Boulevard of Broken dreams
by Shadow Of Castiel
Summary: Dean felt like a broken man, incomplete, like he’d left something of himself in Hell when he was dragged from the burning Pit by Castiel’s hand. Dean/Castiel


Summary: written for the Supernatural kink meme on the LiveJournal community spn_castiel with the prompt - "Dean/Person(s) of your choice (though please refrain from wincest if possible) Set any time (near or far future) after "Head of a Pin". Someone helps Dean channel the association of giving and/or receiving pain with something more positive. sex not required, but not disliked. + one of your own personal favorite kinks. Because this should be fun for the writer too!" All characters belong to Mr Eric Kripke. I make no money from this - this is purely for entertainment purposes. Title taken from the song of the same name by Green Day.

_**Boulevard of broken dreams.**_

Dean felt like a broken man, incomplete, like he'd left something of himself in Hell when he was dragged from the burning Pit by Castiel's hand. He couldn't help but stare sometimes at the handprint forever scarred into his skin, thinking that for one scar given, forever branded there, marked another piece of him missing, forever gone.

When he had been asked by Castiel to torture Alastair, the demon's body pinned relentlessly to the Star of David shaped rack, Dean had been fearful that he wouldn't be able to do it. He'd even warned Castiel that the angel wouldn't like whatever walked back out of that room, wouldn't like what Dean might turn into once exposed to weapons of torture once again.

He felt conflicted, torn apart by different emotions churning within him, memories of all the souls that he'd ripped to shreds during his time in Hell tore at his mind, and he didn't think he could bear it any longer. It was getting too much for him, plus the added knowledge given to him by Alastair, confirmed by Castiel, that Dean had been the one to set the breaking of the seals in motion, that he was the one responsible for the start of the Apocolypse further set him down the lonely path he walked.

Alastair's words still rang in his mind - "And it is written, that the first seal shall be broken when a righteous man spills blood in Hell... as he breaks, so shall it break."

Dean felt like he walked alone, that his shadow was the only thing that walked beside him on the path of his lonely life as it stood.

He looked now over the broken landscape before him, the city streets blurring into one senseless mass, as tears tugged at his eyes. Dean wondered where it had all gone so wrong, why it had had to go so wrong for him. He didn't think that he could take this pain anymore, yet he didn't know what he could do to stop it, to make it all go away.

He sighed, hanging his head to look at the water moving sluggishly below him, passing under the bridge where he stood and flowing relentlessly away. The water seemed to mock him, as it knew no fear, no pain, knew nothing of knives and torture equipment, knew nothing of seals, broken and unbroken, nor righteous men setting apocalyptical flames alight upon the surface of the earth. The water was care-free, and Dean wished he had that feeling right now.

"You cannot blame yourself, Dean," came the familiar voice of Castiel beside him.

Dean did not jump, did not flinch, despite the fact that he had not even heard the angel's arrival, usually given away by the heavy flap of wings. Instead he turned pain filled eyes upon the angel leaning beside him, eyes turned forwards to stare at the far shores, where Dean himself had been staring blindly mere moments before.

"I can't stop it, Cas," Dean said to Castiel, voice tight with emotion and unshed tears. "I can't stop any of it. Like I told you in the hospital, choose someone else. Don't choose me. I can't do it, I'm not strong enough."

"You have no choice, Dean," Castiel said, patiently, as he turned his intense gaze upon Dean. "I think that in times to come you will surprise yourself, and prove that you can do this. You can stop this, Dean. You have to - there is no one else."

Dean continued to stare at Castiel, as the angel pressed his lips together in the familiar look of disapproval that was becoming ever more apparent on Castiel's face of late. Still, Castiel did not drop his gaze, did not lower the intensity of the emotions raging within him.

"Make it stop, Cas," Dean said, almost begged.

At that, Castiel did turn away, and he shook his head regretfully.

"I can't. I don't have the power to stop it, you do," he said, slowly.

"Then why are you here?" Dean asked the inevitable question.

"To show you that the pain you feel inside you can be turned into something positive. Something good, if you let it," Castiel said, his voice dropping to almost a whisper.

Dean still heard his words, but could make no sense of them.

"How?" was all he asked.

Castiel looked up at Dean again, pinning the hunter with a level look that seemed to see right into Dean's soul.

"Do you trust me?" Castiel asked, quietly, eyes narrowing slightly as though suddenly uncertain of what the answer might be.

Dean shrugged nonchalantly, which Castiel chose to take as a yes. Without saying anything more, the angel leant forward, pressing gentle lips against Dean's own, lacing fingers through Dean's hair, pressing him closer to his own body. Dean surprised himself by not protesting, not pulling away, but responded to the angel's kiss, just as hungrily, just as needy as Castiel.

Castiel was the first to break the kiss, giving Dean another intense stare before asking his earlier question again.

"Do you trust me?" he asked, words, breath ghosting across Dean's lips, tickling slightly.

"Yes," Dean said, without hesitation this time, never dropping his gaze from Castiel's.

He'd been wanting someone out there to find him, and maybe he had - Castiel had found him, enfolding him in trust and love and belief. At that moment in time, Dean felt as though the angel was his sole source of support, and for that one brief moment, it was enough.

He did not notice the knife held between nerveless fingers, until Castiel had already placed it there, and Dean backed off slightly, eyes wounded, confused, unknowing.

"What? Why?" he asked, staring in mute fascination at the angel before him.

Castiel rolled back his coat sleeve, exposing bare flesh to the night sky, holding his forearm to Dean as though offering himself up as some kind of blood sacrifice.

"Prove to me that you are strong enough to do this, Dean. Prove to me and to yourself," he said, more a command than a request. "Do it, Dean. Now."

Dean looked away, lips pressing together, gaze searching the horizon for help that would not come. A single tear tracked down his face, sliding past his mouth to drip unnoticed from his chin.

"Cas. Cas, I can't do this. Not to you," he said.

"Dean, I am commanding you to do this. Prove to yourself you are strong enough to face this. You will not hurt me, I will heal. You know that better than anyone," Castiel said, his voice softening on the last of his words.

Dean brought up images of the time he had stabbed Castiel in the chest, back when he'd first met him, and bowed his head against the memories. He knew that Castiel was right. He swallowed past the lump in his throat, screwed up the last of his torn courage before striding forward purposefully to grasp Castiel's wrist in slightly trembling fingers.

Castiel tilted his head back slightly, lips parted, eyes hooded, as he watched Dean visibly steal himself for what he was about to do. Dean pressed the sharp blade against the skin of the angel's forearm, applying enough pressure to slice open the skin, drawing forth Castiel's dark lifeblood. Castiel hissed slightly, but did not protest, merely gave Dean a smile of encouragement when the hunter gave him a sharp look.

Dean looked down at Castiel's arm, at the blood pooling there, running off in shiny rivulets, and he felt nothing. The action had not produced the expected madness, the breaking of his soul like he'd imagined; instead he felt elated, felt like he could actually do what Castiel was asking him to do.

Without thinking, he got down on both knees, fixing his mouth to the open wound, sucking slightly, lapping more at the blood collecting there. His eyes closed against the rich taste of it, moans falling from his lips, as he licked and suckled at the blood. Castiel did not stop him, just let him carry on, lips half parted, head thrown back still, eyes fully closed now. He wrapped wings around the kneeling Dean, caressing every part of Dean's body that he could reach, making Dean moan in pleasure against the angel's arm.

And so they stood, in a boulevard of broken dreams, with shimmering hope lighting the air around them, shadowy wings caressing kneeling man while he lapped at the other's blood.

Finally, Castiel laid a hand upon Dean's shoulder, drawing him away, and Dean went without protest. There was no more blood for him, but the experience had been better than sex for the hunter. He leant forward, pressing lips to Castiel's and the angel tasted the slightly magical qualities of his own blood on Dean's tongue. He wrapped his wings around Dean once again, running their soft edges over Dean gently, making Dean moan his name against his lips.

Castiel pulled away, to pull his coat sleeve over unmarked skin once again, before his steady gaze met Dean's.

"There will be more," he said. "There will always be more. All you have to do is ask."

Dean nodded at that, accepting Castiel's words for what they were, before Castiel left him, ghosting away on shadowy wings, without another word. He left behind his knife and a sense of hope hanging heavy in the hunter's chest. Dean knew that he would make it through this war.

Castiel alone believed in him and that was enough. Somehow that was enough.


End file.
